Rocket Astronaut Vector from Pixabay

Rocket Woman — Red Purgatory


Riding out the Mars blues.

The rocks are red the fields are cold as hell. I miss my home I miss the sights and smells. Our atmosphere chamber can’t replace the feel.

My kids play in alien dust. Will my forced smiles and laughter be enough. When I signed up for the expedition and agreed to the terms of being here how could I foresee having twins on Mars.

The last celebration go-away sex my boyfriend and I had was strictly forbidden but it was a moment of passion and possible goodbye forever to Earth.

Screw NASA and their rules. I’m human. It’s my body, my instincts, my decision.

Instructing me to use the robot surgeon provided to perform an abortion was one the most insulting, denigrating experiences. I’ll bet our beloved government didn’t share their dictate with the public. Bad publicity.

Lucky for me our engineer of quantum physics and space folding was here to help deliver my babies. So sad he died last week of accidental Mars dust inhalation. Accelerated metastatic melanoma appeared out of nowhere. Devastating.

My girls and I are all that’s left of our crew. I will train them to be a scientist, farmers, and engineers like me.

We may never have another human contact from Earth so we must become best at survival on this desolate planet.

What grace or premonition gave me the urge to begin a family here? I must be nuts to think it will work.

The update from Nasa read we only have 8 years to wait until the next transport rocket will come to bring us home. It’s a long long time.

I’m not the woman they thought I was at all. Burning on the edge of heaven but not alone. My girls and I will make it.

My girls and I are rocket women.

(Thanks to Elton John for inspiration for this story with his great song Rocket Man. )

Digitale Kunst from Pixabay



Greg Prince

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.